


The Wrongful Trade

by nigellecter, YouDroppedYourForgiveness



Series: Fire & Brimstone Arc [4]
Category: Charlie Countryman (2013), Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Drug-Induced Sex, Hannibal is Hannibal, Incest, M/M, Massacre, Rape/Non-con Elements, Trauma, Twincest, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 06:25:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7348822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nigellecter/pseuds/nigellecter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouDroppedYourForgiveness/pseuds/YouDroppedYourForgiveness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fire & Brimstone Headcanon. <br/>First Chapter - Nigel's POV<br/>Second Chapter - Hannibal's POV</p><p>Nigel gets raped, Hannibal loses his shit altogether.</p><p>Unbeta'ed, mistakes are our own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nigel's POV

The world begins to spin and blur, as the tips of his fingers pressed onto the bottom of the tumbler, where perspiring glass touches them are cool, but the rest of him feels scalding. The rising heat continue to form tiny beads of sweat around his hairline and while his trembling fingers rake his hair, trying his best to not show the resounding weakness he feels from the lower appendages, his atrophying muscles and protruding veins and cords around the curve of his neck throbs with effervescing blood. The arch of his cheekbone already tinged with rosy red, a loose strand of hair cups around the defined chiseled features as he presses his too warm palm against his forehead.    


  


As the strewn tables, pushed off to the side as erratic crowds of people perch by to waste away through the night, they simply become haloed and obscured disks over the threshold of the rugged, run-down bar. His dominant straight posture slowly begins to slouch as the drug kicks in, the spikes weaved through the pores as the fine hair stands up in a warning signal, but it’s too late. His vision gradually begins to darken along with his characteristically piercing, intense unblinking whiskey glare reduces to be dimmed and filtered as diaphanous orbs slowly flutter shut without his permission.

  


The blazing heat weaves heavily upon like beads of mercury as each drop threads through every inch of his skin, a rush of sinking sensation, into an unfathomable abyss as an incinerating blaze, like the inside of the kiln sweeps through the lower half of his body. The firm hold around the tumbler rapidly loosens and another hand, all calloused and scraping against his protruded veins, wraps around his own fingers and snatches the glass away. Not wanting to attract any attention but to limping body pressed against his front, the taller man‘s rough, whip-like and coiled arm sweeps his limping figure like a broken rag doll.

  


Through the teetering and dazzling obscurity, the tumultuous surge of heat instantaneously stiffen his erection as the faucet breaks. The aching, engorged crown stinging with scalding spill underneath the temporary prison still holding his sanity in place. The silken button-down immediately tears and scatters down in fragments of frayed threads, along with flying buttons clattering upon the creaky hardwood, protesting furthermore with the two men’s combined weight. Each forceful tug of the fiber takes chunks of his floating consciousness along with it. Nigel plunges further into the imminent physiological needs, the pent-up arousal too great to resist. The burly vehemence of a man’s clothed body entraps Nigel between the chilling froth of flaring appallation as his spine sharply arch like a strung-up bow.

  


Underneath the man’s sneering domineering position, a smirk etches upon the corner of his mouth as he holds the grip of Nigel’s revolver from his curved spine as the muzzle aligns with the dimple of his back. Disposing what it could be a threatening weapon, although Nigel’s too sloshed up to do anything remotely resist what comes to him, he discards the weapon by placing it near the closed door frame, in the shadowy corner where it wouldn’t be visible. He feels Nigel’s already hard erection give off that familiar odor. The deep, tacky musk clings upon the skin and exudes through the ambiance of the musty interior.

  


The Czech man wouldn’t even need the gleaming blade underneath his feet to get Nigel to cooperate. The potent drug weaves through every nerve endings of his half-naked, toned and lean form and there’s an inescapable urge growing astronomical behind the shut door. The bustle of the throng pushed away from his consciousness, the concurrent rush of fire and ice aggregates to turn him into a trembling, sweaty mess.

  


Hannibal is just outside of the joint where the deal was supposed to take place and where it had been the neutral ground for both Nigel and the aggressor. Except, the scene had been already set up as it had been an entrapment. Nigel wouldn’t remember a thing, and the man would get away unscathed with the cold hard money that would make him richer. He patiently waits for the clandestine deed to be sealed and dealt with, before the twins head off to appreciate their reserved five-course extravagant dinner at the French restaurant Hannibal frequents.

  


As the drug conducts the whole orchestration upon his limbs and every stretch of his nerve endings, he surrenders between the coarse gravel of chipped paint that seem to ooze endless amount of stale smoke and abomination of grease and revoting spews of bubbled blood permeated through the cement. His stubborn cling to the reality ends there, as the last whooshing sensation sweeps him across the room and lids flutter shut like flapping wings of the wounded prey, caught in the unforgiving and merciless talons as the blood pours out. Before the world begins to slant and becomes an inextinguishable milky way full of hurtling celestial bodies and bleeding colors, Nigel is completely stripped bare with only rag of his shirt draped over his torso. An unstoppable tremor spikes him in petrification, causing his length to leak more sticky fluid against his will.

  


The wretched and wrecked tight coil widens without no resistance as humiliating moans and urge to have his bottom filled overrides any remote desperation. Once past the constricting dry walls, the friction feels like a drag upon the barren fragments of sharp glass, as the sense to perceive pain deeply etches upon Nigel’s face, looking more like in incorrigible ecstasy. Further parting his legs to accept the other’s length yet, he shows a hint of submissiveness through gritted teeth as a series of moans slip through the spikiness of his throat. That damned fringing silk serving as a line that manifests his unconcealed form to be like a puppet under a puppeteer’s unforgiving maneuver.

  


As searing pain rushes to brew upward from within, concurrently, the force of rushing blood works against the acute drumming suffering as the despicable arousal onslaughts his taut, petrified body. As soon as the surge of subjugation completely overwhelms him, the man is already pulling away from him with a choking grasp and a distinctive teeth mark underneath the gleam of his perspiration as scalding liquid brims over his diaphanous whiskey gaze. Spurted amalgamation of blood and release, spills forth between Nigel’s legs like an erupted volcano, magma free flowing along with his untouched, body-wrecking overflow. The assailing assault continues even after staggering orgasm, as their merged form continues to slither and rut away in a fierce, frenzied and malignant act. Sinking into the quagmire of humiliation of his sleazy release and scalding blood continuing to pool underneath his inner thighs, his zoned nonchalance sketches through Nigel’s unreadable expression. Through fading cognizance, he feels the unbreakable pulsating spasm still course through the angrily protruding cords and veins of his debauched body.

  


Too caught up in the act of further degrading the man he had been holding in contempt, the Czech man fails to register Hannibal’s almost inaudible stride storming into the closed-off room. He doesn’t have to come across the ghastly sight to believe, as the fingertips already curl underneath the sleeves to produce a glinting silver scalpel. His nostrils already catch Nigel’s distinct unique musk along with putrid scent of the man’s sweat and sleazy fluids assault his heightened sense. It doesn’t even take a heartbeat to armor up with his apex predator mode as his fierce maroon fixates with enough intensity to burn through the back of the broader man’s skull.


	2. Hannibal's POV

Checking his watch a second time, Hannibal knows that Nigel is late meeting him out front of this shady establishment. It does not matter to him that his twin is only one minute late. In the life they lead, every second counts. Adjusting his tie, and stowing his cellphone in his pocket once more, he makes his way inside. He walks like a king, and a man with a purpose, his face blank and unreadable, making him look like an ominous figure in the din of the bar. Normally he did not go around carrying concealed weapons on his person, but at Nigel’s suggestion, he had tucked one of his favorite scalpels into the sleeve of his suit jacket. Hannibal was dressed in a fine light colored suit of cream yellow, with a white undershirt, his three-piece suit made him stand out, but he was used to that and didn’t mind the attention one bit. While it made him cranky, that they would possibly be late for their dinner reservation, he was more worried about Nigel’s well being.

 

At the bar, he asked the bartender a quick question in an overly friendly manner, about two gentlemen he was supposed to meet, and that he had been running late. With a devilish smile, he palmed a hundred dollar bill, and slipped it to the bartender, who in turn pointed him in the direction of what looked like a back door. With a wink, and tilted nod of his head, he gives his thanks, and walks through the door, not bothering to check to see if it was locked- it wasn’t. He let his eyes adjust to the darkness, and stared down a long corridor, at the other far end was a stairwell. A muscle bound mook, with a not so bright light in his eyes, started walking towards Hannibal in a threatening overly stuffed manner. Placing his hand in his left pocket, Hannibal made himself look harmless, and waited patiently for the brute to come to him.

 

Standing in place, he waited for the guard to stomp his massive bulk down the hallway to plant his feet squarely in front of Hannibal. “What’s your business here, this entrance is for special guests only.” Assessing the situation, he would rather not get his suit bloody, he didn’t bring his plastic over suit with him, so he would have to play nice at least… until he found Nigel. Letting the smile reach his eyes, he beamed pleasantly, and asked the guard. “I don’t suppose you know who I am, do you?” The guard seemed taken aback by such a hard question, and finally, really looked at Hannibal, and what he was wearing. Stammering the guard shuffled his bulk aside to let Hannibal go past him. “My thanks sir.” He told the placated guard, and continued swiftly down the hallway, as soon as his back was turned, he let the smile fall from his face, going back to blankness.

 

Taking the stairs, he ascended quickly, bouncing up the stairs, keeping his eyes peeled, and surveying anything and everything he sees. On his way up, he took mental notes, on the doors, how many people he saw, and any other guards. He memorized his way out, and looked for anymore exits, in case anything bad were to happen. The building was only three floors, and once he was on the top floor, he no longer saw any other signs of people. He started testing doors, and checking for ones that were not locked, he walked silently in his patent leather shoes, not making any noise on the carpeted hall. Of course the last door he checked was not locked, and he slipped inside, closing the door behind him, while he still faced forward.

 

The scene he saw, was not what he had been expecting. His teeth clenched in his jaw, nose pinched in disgust. Some stranger was just finishing up, having his way with Nigel. Hannibal’s identical twin looked out of it, and not at all cognitive. Fist clenched, Hannibal crept up behind Nigel’s assaulter. Fast as lightning he broke the man’s neck in a way that would only paralyze him. Hannibal closed his eyes for a brief moment, breathing heavy out of his nose. By the time he opened his eyes, he was practically shaking with a deeply hidden rage. He never let other see this side of him. Every other time he was clear headed, and calm, taking his time to do things right. But not tonight, he was not concerned about doing things right, there was nothing right about what just happened. Chest rising and falling in a labored manner, he struggled to stay still, he wanted to fly threw the whole building like a whirlwind killing indiscriminately.

 

Having left the man who had raped Nigel on the floor where he fell, he went about to dress his brother, and moved him from the bed to the couch, laying him out flat as not to disturb him, taking to make him as comfortable as he could. Hannibal had taken off his suit jacket and rolled it up and placed it under Nigel’s head for a pillow. Kneeling over his twin, he closed his eyes and let his forehead rest against the other’s cheek. “I have failed to keep you safe, my dear, I hope you can forgive me.” At those words, he stood, it didn’t matter if Nigel couldn’t hear him or didn’t remember any of this.

 

Nothing after this moment would be the same, he knew that the things that happened now would change their lives forever. He could not let a sleight of this level go, he could not live with himself if he did. Standing he rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, and picked up the scalpel he had placed on the arm of the couch. He turned on his heel, and stormed out of the room, stepping over the scumbag on the floor, and not even bothering to look in his direction. As he walked down the hallway, loosening his tie as he went, and huffed past all the locked doors. Down on the second floor, he was given a questioning look by another guard. When the man moved towards Hannibal, he didn’t even hesitate for a second, and plunged the scalpel into the man’s eye socket. In one singular motion he pulled the tool free, and sliced the guard throat to finish him off.

 

When the last body fell on the second floor, he paused a moment to take a drink from an unopened bottle of wine, he had used the bottle opener, and drank right from the bottle. His mouth was like sand, dry and unbearable. No matter how much he drank it did not quench his thirst, he felt like a man in the desert with no water. His hands were covered with blood, knuckles bruised, and cut from where he had punched a few people. His mind was reeling from the thoughts that pelted his brain like hail. He wasn’t done yet and he had a few things left to take care of. Slamming the bottle down, he took the stairs down to the first floor, two at a time.

 

Back at last in the first hallway, with the same guard who had stopped him, he walked slowly but steadily down the corridor, towards the bigger man. “Sir, I ask that you stay where you are, don’t come any closer.” The guard had backed up, then stood his ground, Hannibal didn’t listen to a word and kept coming on. The guard pulled a gun from the small of his back and pointed it at Hannibal, but he moved too quickly for the guard to get a sight on him, and wrenched the gun right of the taller man’s hands. Tossing the gun aside like a toy, Hannibal grabbing a fist full of the guards shirt getting a nice hold on him, then pulled the corkscrew from upstairs out of his pocket and shoved it up and under the big guard’s chin. The body dropped to the floor face first at Hannibal’s feet and he walked out into the nearly empty bar.

 

The only person left in the establishment, as it was now growing late, was the bartender, who Hannibal had slipped a hundred dollar bill to earlier. Walking up to the bar, the tender looked horrified, and stood clutching  a white towel in shock. Hannibal must have looked a sight to behold, covered in blood, and looking wild. “I would like a gin and tonic, you would please.” The bartender jumped when Hannibal spoke, and replied. “I’m…ah.. Sorry we’re closed now.” With a loud snarl, Hannibal lunged forward, yanking on the other man’s tie, and pulled. He bashed the other man’s face on the shiny counter of the bar, and blood spurted everywhere from a broken nose. He didn’t stop there, at all, and leap over the counter to break a bottle of Hennessy, on the hard counter top, and stabbing the bartender deep in the gut, pulling upwards, opening the hapless man from waist to sternum, his insides spilling out onto the floor. Bending over, Hannibal plucked the hundred dollar bill from the dead bartenders shirt pocket. “I refuse to tip rudeness. And I don’t think you’ll need this where you are going.”

 

Hannibal after he had made his own drink, cleaned himself off as best he could. He was not satisfied having killed every single person in the whole building beside the two he left upstairs. He had grown weary and tired, all of his actions finally catching up with him. He was getting too old for this sort of recklessness, and was one main reason he tried not to act like an animal, but having seen Nigel abused, and taken advantage, made him snap. He couldn’t take it, back and he wouldn’t want to if he could. Someone deserved to pay for what happened to his twin. After he tucked the now paralyzed assaulter into the trunk of his Bentley he had retrieved Nigel at last, and gently placed him in the backseat. He was no longer awake, but sleeping now. Hannibal shut the passenger side door, and went back inside one last time.

 

He had dumped out or thrown, every bottle of alcohol onto the floor, and found a lighter, he set the whole building on fire, as he stood on the sidewalk, he watched as the flames crackled slowly, catching and spreading everywhere. Normally he would not bat an eyelash to leaving clues for the police to find and mull over, but he was now on a time clock. They wouldn’t be able to stay home for long, the fire gave them a day or two at the most. Hannibal had bought them time, but it wouldn’t be long before the FBI came knocking on their door. He had left too much evidence behind in his blind fury. His first and only goal was to go home gather what he could, and make his way to one of his many safe houses. Once Nigel recovers, and he had taken care of the man in his trunk, they would leave Baltimore behind forever, and go to Florence, Italy, and maybe even visit Romania for Nigel’s sake.  The man who did this to his twin, would get his in due time, Hannibal wanted to take his time, and give him a slow and painful death, because he deserved worse. 

 

When Nigel woke up at last it was the next day. Hannibal sat in an armchair by the side of his twin’s bed reading a book and drinking a cup of tea. He glanced up and saved his spot with a finger, he wore reading glasses and was trying not to look too anxiously at his brother. “How do you feel?” He asked, and uncrossed his leg to stand and moved to Nigel’s side. The croaking reply made Hannibal close his eyes, and smile faintly.

 

 “I feel like fucking shit, where the fuck are we?” 


End file.
